


imperative

by doriangay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fix-It, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Jack, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, cas and dean are parents okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doriangay/pseuds/doriangay
Summary: Imperative.noun1. an essential or urgent thing.“a happy ending was imperative.”jack inherits the earth. everyone is alive and safe - what else could there possibly be left to resolve?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	imperative

**Author's Note:**

> well.... here we are! writing supernatural longfic in 2020 because SOMEONE couldnt resolve their character arcs. and also because i accidentally got too attached to destiel and now i can't stop thinking about how they could've had a good life together.......
> 
> you can find me @robbieross on tumblr! i'm gonna try to keep to a biweekly schedule for updates, we'll see... we'll see
> 
> EDIT: WELL. in light of recent events this is compliant to the english dub of the episode.

Dean’s head was pounding. 

That was something people always failed to understand about this whole saving the world thing; the lack of respect hangovers had for events of cosmic importance. They didn't care about God - they didn’t care about life or death or tragedy. They persisted, a constant reminder that Dean really was getting too old to be doing shit like this.

“Shit like this” currently being staring into the eyes of God. God, aka Jack. Sweet Jack, kind Jack, Jack who’d never shown any inclination towards wanting power before. Had Dean’s head not been in such a state, he was sure his heart would have broken right then and there.

A single bead of sweat threatened to trickle down the back of his neck. It wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to happen like this: him and Sam and Jack in the middle of a crowded street, people bustling and laughing around them, a blue sky mocking them from high up above.

It just wasn't the kind of place you were supposed to say goodbye to someone.

He wanted to convince him to stay.

Actually, scratch that, he _had_ to convince him to stay - his shoulder, the handprint on his shoulder, was burning in a way that made him sure of that. Who cared if the kid was God? He slept with a night light and a teddy bear and he was Dean's responsibility.

"Look," he said, 'Jack - you don't have to do this. You can come home with us, learn to use your new powers somewhere safe."

Jack smiled, "I'll be okay, Dean. I have Amara."

"Amara," Sam scoffed beside Dean, his arms folded against his chest.

"She's at peace. She wants to help me."

Something about this seemed off to Dean, too easy. There was a swimming feeling in his stomach that couldn't have come from his hangover, something acidic and close to terror.

"This isn't right," he said, "this isn't how it's supposed to end."

Jack tilted his head, "who says this is the end?"

"You're leaving. Seems pretty fuckin' final to me, kid."

Sam hissed Dean's name, like he was afraid Jack would strike him down - yeah, sure, it was just like Dean to get on the new God's bad side less than an hour after dethroning the previous one, but what did it matter? What had it all been for if Dean was going to lose Jack too?

An easy smile from Jack, "remember, Dean. Raindrops. I'll be everywhere."

"Everywhere but here," Dean said sullenly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Jack's smile wavered for a moment but he said nothing, staring at Sam and Dean like he was trying to memorise them. And maybe he was.

He lifted his hand, "good-"

"Wait," Dean cut him off, his mouth dry, "when you said you brought everyone back-"

More of the smile, joy streaming out of Jack, "you want to know about Cas." He said, simply.

Dean couldn't even answer, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He nodded, squeezing his fists together so tightly that he was afraid he'd bust a blood vessel.

"He's at home." Jack said.

"Home?" Sam stepped forward, "as in… Heaven?"

Frowning, Jack shook his head, "no, _home_." He insisted, "the bunker."

If Dean had been falling for the past few weeks, then that was the moment when he finally hit the ground, feet first, his entire body reverberating with the shock. 

"Thank you," he managed to croak out, "Jack, I-"

But Jack was already gone.

What came next was a blur. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Dean found himself racing towards the Impala and throwing himself into the driver’s seat with Sam hot on his heels. Neither of them needed to say anything to the other - there was no question as to where they were going. Sam didn’t even give Dean shit when he ran a red light, almost getting them killed in what would’ve been one of their less dignified deaths. Imagine that. Defeating God then dying in a freak accident. How embarrassing.

After a few minutes of Dean going full-throttle, Sam cleared his throat, “I need to call Eileen.” He said, “Dean, I-”

“Knock yourself out,” Dean replied absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the road.

Sam fumbled in his pocket for his phone and held it up to his face with shaking hands. 

Despite himself, and despite his rising nausea that had him seriously worried he was gonna have to pull over and throw up by the side of the road, Dean couldn’t help but hold his breath as the two of them waited for Eileen to pick up.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings-

“Sam?”

There she was, her brows furrowed as she peered out from Sam’s screen.

Sam exhaled shakily, trying to hold it together, “hey Eileen,” he half-said, half-signed, hands and voice equally unsteady.

“Sam, what’s-” I have no idea what just happened. One minute I was waiting for you outside and the next…”

“I know.” Sam said, “I know, just- can you get to the bunker? We’re gonna be there in a few hours. I need to see you.”

Eileen hesitated for a moment, face still drawn with confusion, “you’ll tell me everything?”

“Everything.” Sam said, “I promise,” he signed afterwards, quickly.

She sighed. “I’ll meet you there.” 

And then she hung up, leaving Sam and Dean alone in the silence of the car once again. 

Good for Sam, Dean thought. Sam Winchester, little brother Sammy, getting the girl like always - it was what he deserved: love, happiness-

Happiness.

That was the word that had been stuttering through his mind for the past few days, a broken record that broke down more and more as time wore on. Sometimes he savoured it, like it was a tender bruise, something to press on and wince; sometimes he cowered from it, like it was a knife or a fist.

Of course, it wasn’t the word itself that was haunted. He’d accepted years ago that he just wasn’t built for happiness - he knew, actually, for a fact, that his story wasn’t written to be a happy one. But the way Cas had said it, with reverence, with the same tender tone he usually reserved for Dean’s name. It had broken something inside of him, one of the few parts he wasn’t sure had been broken before, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to fix.

“Dean,” Sam said, “watch the road.”

“I’m watching it.”

“You’re not.”

Dean huffed and refocused his eyes, realising he’d been driving almost on autopilot. They couldn’t be more than half an hour away from the bunker now, the winding roads cutting familiar shapes on the horizon.

“I-” Sam started, his voice a little strained, “I guess we won.”

“Won what?”

“I don’t know - everything? Chucks gone, everyone’s back on Earth. You even got Cas back.”

Dean snorted, “yeah? I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Sam didn’t grace that with a response - he shook his head and leaned back in his seat, smiling to himself. Dean wondered whether he was picturing a future - a future with Eileen, with children and a house and not a monster in sight. It was a nice thought. Unrealistic, though. Dean knew that by now; something would always come to pull the two of them back in.

They arrived at the bunker in record time. If there was a record for how fast you could drive from the site of God’s disappearance to your home slash secret underground bunker, then Dean would have knocked it out of the park. He was surprised Sam hadn’t complained more.

He didn’t have time to think, though - he left Sam into the car and tore towards the front door, almost knocking it off its hinges as he opened it, so desperate just to _know_.

“Cas?” He called into the seemingly empty bunker, “Cas?”

He took the stairs three at a time, hardly breathing, hardly remembering how to stand as he raced through the rooms, searching for Cas.

“Cas?” He called again, knowing he sounded pathetic - his voice was breaking, not even able to make it through the single syllable, so pathetically dependent on those three letters.

“Cas?” One last time, inconsolable, having him hoping that Sam was still out in the car, that he had the decency to give Dean some privacy, five minutes, at least, to find the bunker empty, to crack open a bottle of something strong and pretend he hadn’t believed Jack the entire time.

But, then, he reached the kitchen.

“Dean?”

The kitchen was the same as they’d left it: a mess. Half-empty bottles littered the worktops, and there was a mouldy loaf of bread resting on the hob, forgotten in the chaos.

Only one of the lights was working, flickering a little from the almost dead bulb, casting a harsh, wavering golden light on a familiar figure, who was sat slumped in his usual chair.

Dean sucked in a deep breath. The light ceased to flicker for a moment.

“Hey,” he breathed, stumbling towards Cas, “hey, buddy-”

The word caught in his throat, sharp.

Cas didn’t seem to mind, though. He was trying to sit up, muddling through his confusion, “Dean?” He said again, blinking.

Now, Dean knew that there was a right way to do things. He knew he should pat Cas on the shoulder, tell him he was glad to have his best friend back. He knew he should give him a wide berth, sit opposite him at the table and keep his hands to himself from now on. He knew that what had passed between them before Cas had been taken would change things, and that he should fight that change, that no good could come of it.

He’d always sucked at doing the right thing.

Instead, he launched himself across the room at Cas, sitting him up, making sure he was solid, drinking it all in. He just had to feel him, just to be sure.

“You scared the shit out of me, man,” he said, hand on Cas’ cheek, “Jesus, I thought-” he couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“So did I,” Cas smiled, “but here we are. Once again.”

Dean laughed at that - God, it really was neverending.

“Here we are.” He echoed.

Breathing in, he steadied himself a little and blinked. In his excitement, he hadn’t noticed where he’d been putting his hands - beneath his fingers, and beneath Cas’ skin, was an unmistakable thrumming. It was delicate and fast, a hummingbird threatening to burst free.

“Cas,” he said, “you’re-”

“Human.”

Dean quickly stepped back, dropping his hands from Cas’ face, “well. Shit.”

He waited for the other shoe to drop. Surely Cas had to feel something about this: sadness, happiness, existential dread - but his face was terrifyingly calm.

Slowly, he raised his hand to touch where Dean’s had been, smiling as he felt his pulse race beneath his fingers. Dean thought, for a moment, that he saw a little colour touch his cheeks.

“Jack did this.” He said, with certainty.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

So he didn’t know.

It was going to hurt to tell him - the same way it would've hurt had Jack been dead or missing. It didn’t matter if he was God if he wasn’t there with them. And Cas had loved that kid, loved him far more openly and with far less caution than Dean had.

“Listen,” Dean said gently, pulling out a chair and sitting down beside Cas, “Jack, he-”

“-Cas?”

Dean turned to see Sam and Eileen in the kitchen doorway, cutting harsh shadows. Despite everything, the sight sent a wave of relief through him.

Cas sat up a little straighter, “Sam.”

“You’re-”

“Alive. Yes.”

Sam put an arm around Eileen and squeezed her tight - the action was an exhale, like he was squeezing the tension from them both.

“And The Empty?” He asked, after a moment.

Cas’ breath hitched, “I don’t know, I don’t remember,” he said, “I don’t remember anything after I was taken.”

“Nothing?”

“No, I-”

“Sam.” Dean said sharply, “he just got here. Give him a moment.”

Eileen sighed heavily and shook Sam’s arm off stepping into the kitchen. With her face suddenly illuminated under the flickering bulb, Dean realised she looked tired, really tired, like she hadn’t slept for days.

Without looking anyone in the eye, she sat down opposite Cas at the table and cradled her chin in her hands, shoulders slumping. Sam followed, sitting down next to her, stiff and awkward.

The four of them stared in total silence for a long, long moment, not sure of what to do. Where do you go from here? There was nothing on the horizon, nothing for Dean to be running to or from - he felt lost.

“So,” he said, after the silence has stretched for far too long, “beer?”

Sam and Eileen nodded, and Cas murmured a small “please.”

They all drank together. It should’ve felt celebratory but it wasn’t. It wasn’t sad, though. It was just quiet, small, the feeling you get when you’re the last person left at the bar and you can feel the bartender watching you, waiting for you to leave. It was a wake, a wake if the person who’d died hadn’t been well loved, or, maybe, if they’d been too well loved and people didn’t know how to talk about it.

Cas was the quietest of them all. Dean knew he was turning everything over in his mind, that he was dying to ask where Jack was, but too afraid to find out the inevitable. Part of him wanted to grab him by the wrist and take him outside, to at least try and comfort him by repeating Jack’s speech, to hope there was a well-timed rumble of thunder or gust of wind that could make them both feel a little less broken up. He imagined how they’d stare at each other, then, and how he’d manage to say it all with a single look.

But every time he thought he’d plucked up the courage, he caught Cas’ eye and his heart plummeted into his stomach, paralysing him.

A couple of times, he managed to say his name and tap him on the shoulder, but he always chickened out, asked instead if he wanted another beer, or if he was getting tired.

“Tired?” Sam had said the first time, raising his eyebrows, “does that mean you’re…”

Cas hadn’t said anything, but had nodded, his hand reaching up to feel his pulse again.

After what felt like an eternity, Sam and Eileen decided to go to bed. They stood up in unison, both a little tipsy, and left the kitchen hand in hand. Before he rounded the corner of the doorway, Sam gave Dean a tactful nod; Dean wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but he took offense anyway, glaring at the empty space Sam had been long after he disappeared from his line of sight.

“Dean,” Cas said, catching his attention, “you still haven’t told me what happened.”

 _To Jack._ Those two words stayed painfully unsaid, caught between Cas’ teeth.

“Cas.” He murmured, rubbing his eyes, “look, we did what we could. It wasn’t an easy fight, it was _God,_ and-”

“He’s dead.” The look on Cas’ face was far worse than anything Dean had anticipated, worse than anything he’d ever seen before. 

“No!” He said, too quickly, “no, he’s not dead, he’s - and, Cas, man, you have to understand this was the only way - he’s-”

Dean swallowed. He didn’t want to have to break the news like this - not with his head threatening to split itself in two, not tipsy in the kitchen with his knees knocking against Cas’ under the table.

“He’s God.”

Cas’ face twisted, “he’s what?”

“When he exploded, you know, in The Empty? He became a- a vacuum, and he sucked up so much power that he just kind of…” Dean waved his hands vaguely, “absorbed Chuck’s grace.”

“And killed him?”

“No. No, Chuck’s human now too.”

“Oh.”

The shadow that had passed over Cas’ face didn’t lift. If anything, he looked even sadder. Dean wanted to reach out and - he wanted to lean over and -

Well, he wanted to do something. He wanted to take Cas’ sadness and shoot it, or stick it full of silver pins. 

“Cas-” he started.

“Did he say if he’d visit? Or, maybe he can stay with us, he can do his heavenly duties with us still keeping an eye on him.”

“I-” Dean licked his lips, “I don’t think he will. We tried to get him to stay but he just left.”

Cas said nothing, putting his head in his hands and letting out a long, exhausted sigh. Under that flickering golden light he looked so old and worn down and human that Dean had to avert his eyes. He stood up, clearing away a few of the beer bottles and turning his back to Cas as he moved them to the kitchen counter.

“We’ll get him back,” he said, gruffly, “we’ve found one God, we can do it again.”

“He’s not God, Dean, he’s-”

“I know.”

Cas tugged at the hem of his jacket, “Dean-” he started, his voice taking on a different tone.

“We’ll find him.” Dean repeated, pulling out of Cas’ reach and turning to face him, “I promise, man.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes meeting for real for the first time since Cas had gotten back.

Surprisingly, Cas was the first to break. He looked down at his lap, shoulders sagging, “I’m exhausted,” he admitted.

“C’mon,” Dean said, hating himself for how easily he softened, “let’s get you a bed made up.

-

Luckily for the two of them, there was an empty room with a clean bed ready and waiting, some long-forgotten relic of when they’d used to have guests in the bunker on the regular.

It was a small room, smaller than Dean’s, with nothing more than a bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk-chair combo. Cas seemed to hardly care, though, and made his way directly to the bed, not even taking his shoes off as he tried to climb into it.

Dean laughed, “hold on there,” he said, following Cas and tugging at his coat, “you’re really wearing _this_ to bed?”

Frowning, Cas looked down at himself, “this is all I’ve got.”

He was right. Poor Cas had been wearing the same outfit for years now - it was probably covered in years of invisible grime that he’d siphoned off with his grace, something Dean had never considered the logistics of before.

“Hang on,” he said, backing out of the room, “I’ll get you something.”

He raced down the hall to his own room, which was only a few doors down, and opened his drawers. He had more pyjamas than most people in his position probably should, something Sam had always teased him about, but now it was finally paying off. He picked out a soft plain shirt and matching bottoms, letting the fabric run between his fingers.

For a moment, he let his mind wander - thought about changing into the clothes himself and taking something else for Cas. How would he react, he wondered, if he said nothing and climbed into bed next to him? Would he speak? Would he smile? After everything, Dean still wasn’t sure.

Cas loved him.

That was a fact - something Dean had managed to store in the back of his brain for a while now, stuffed in a little box labelled “do not open!” and emblazoned with a skull and crossbones.

But, now, without the haze of layers of grief and guilt, and with that box suddenly unlocked, only the fact remained: Cas loved him.

He might not have meant it like _that,_ of course. As human as he was, Cas was still otherworldly - Dean had never thought - he’d never let himself hope - that he was capable of feeling on that level. Sure, he was affectionate - he cared for his family, for his son and his brothers, but romantic love was something Dean had never seen him exhibit before. All the women he’d ever had a chance with, he’d ignored almost completely.

Oh. Well, Dean supposed he’d been a little slow on the uptake with that one. Not interested in women. Right. Noted. 

It didn’t matter. Dean was a coward. He shook his head and took the single pair of pyjamas back to Cas.

Cas was sitting on his bed, staring at the floor. He had his finger back on his pulse, feeling it, face as unreadable as ever.

“Hey,” Dean said, throwing the pyjamas at him, “put these on. They’re more comfortable than that coat.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas said, a strange quality touching his voice, a hint of something Dean couldn’t understand.

See? Even in humanity, he was incomprehensible.

Dean turned his back, giving Cas some privacy as he changed, and pretending to busy himself inspecting the desk in the corner of the room. Somehow, he was aware of Cas’ eyes on his back, watching him.

“They fit,” Cas said eventually, and Dean turned to see him, changed.

The clothes did fit. They were a little big, the fabric of the shirt’s shoulders bunching and rippling where it searched for Dean’s slightly broader shoulders, but he looked good. He looked normal.

Dean smiled.

Without a word, Cas yawned and climbed into the bed, looking a little self conscious. It occurred to Dean that he hadn’t slept properly for a very long time - it probably felt strange to tuck himself into bed, like a novelty he was going to have to get used to.

“You gonna be alright?” Dean asked, hoping, for some reason, that Cas would say no. No and I need you. No and I want you to stay. No but with you I could be.

“Yes.” Cas said, that strange edge creeping back into his voice as he rolled over.

“Okay.”

Dean cleared his throat and walked to the door, hesitating as he rested his hand on the handle. If he turned back and decided to stay the night, what was the worst that could happen? What was wrong with wanting to sleep next to someone? He’d slept next to hundreds of people in his life and never had it mean a single thing.

But, turning to look over his shoulder, Dean realised that Cas was already asleep.

-

He slept fitfully in his own bed that night. Tangled up in the sheets, he felt almost as though he was running a fever - the events of the past few days, weeks, even years, ran though his mind in a jumble, making him mutter and curse under his breath. He just couldn’t untangle it all. Jack was gone and the world was saved and Chuck was human and Cas loved him. And what could Dean do with any of that? None of those things could be shot at or killed. All he could do was lie there in a pool of his own sweat as they taunted him.

At around four in the morning, he gave up on sleep altogether. He sat up in bed and put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair - at least his headache was almost gone, making way for his next hangover, which would probably take hold within the next few hours.

He needed a glass of water.

Groaning, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen, squinting as he stumbled down the dark corridor. For a moment, he paused outside Cas’ room, holding his breath to see if he could hear him snoring. He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t, the walls were too thick.

The bulb in the kitchen had finally blown. He flicked the light switch a few times, but all it managed was a weak spark before dying entirely. It didn’t matter - he knew the bunker inside out by now.

He felt his way to the cupboard where they kept their glasses, and then to the kitchen sink, his hands out in front of him like he was performing some stupid, mock ballet as he navigated his way though the dark.

And then there was a burst of light, and the kitchen was fully illuminated, and Dean realised he wasn’t alone.

“Jack?”

Jack was sat at the kitchen table, curled in on himself. He looked small, his hands fisted into his hair as he stared desperately around the room, rocking a little. 

“Jack?” Dean repeated, taking a cautious step towards him, “are you alright?”

No response - Jack’s eyes continued to dart around the room, panicked, and his breath came in short, scared huffs. Funny. Dean hadn’t known that God even _needed_ to breathe; but, in that moment, he couldn’t see Jack as God or even as a celestial being. All he saw was a scared little boy.

Slowly, he approached the table, crouching so he was eye-to-eye with Jack. Jack’s gaze fell on him and he stopped staring, his eyes widening like he hadn’t even noticed Dean was in the room with him.

“Dean?”

“Hey, kid.”

Jack reached out to grip Dean’s wrist, his hands bruising him beneath his thin shirt, “I want-” He started, his teeth gritted.

He couldn’t say it. Something was stopping him - his own pride, maybe. But it was written plainly on his face. He wanted to be at home, he wanted his old life, he’d seen enough of the world to last him several human lifetimes.

Dean understood. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, the pain of it all, the suffering he’d have had to witness. Years ago, though it felt more like centuries, he’d tried his hand at reaping. It wasn’t something he thought about much anymore; the nightmares and the guilt had ceased and made way for new horrors, but it gave him a certain level of understanding, a means to meet Jack half way.

He covered Jack’s hand with his own, “I know,” he said, “I know, Jack. It’s okay.”

Jack shook. Jack shook his head, shook from head to toe, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I wanted to leave you - you and Cas and Sam.”

“And what do you want now?” Dean said, quietly, hoping Jack’s rising hysterics wouldn’t wake everyone. The kid needed calm - Sam barging in and taking up space and fussing, that would just complicate things.

“I don’t know.” Jack said.

“How about something to eat?” Dean started, an old trick he’d always used on Sam: food, then talk, “I’ll make you something, anything, then we can sort this shit out.”

Jack frowned, looking more like Cas than ever, “cereal.” He said, after a moment, “and a glass of milk.”

“And then?”

Another moment of silence, “is Cas still here?”

Dean felt a little weight lift from his chest - Cas could handle this far better than him, everything would be alright once he was here. They’d shake him awake, frantic but not grim, and Cas would smile, and they’d work things out.

“You want me to go wake him?” He asked, pulling away from Jack.

“No!” Jack answered, too fast, “not if he’s asleep. He’s human now, I don’t want to-”

“He’ll probably sleep a hell of a lot better once he finds out you’re safe. Jesus, he’s probably tossing and turning right now, worrying about you.”

Jack’s face crumpled, “I worried him?” He asked.

“No, you-” Dean didn’t have the right words. He searched for them, delving deep into the past, searching for some parental figure who’d comforted him, searching for old movies or sitcoms, anything that would help him talk to this kid.

“Maybe I should leave.”

Dean jumped, “no!” He said, “no, Jack - look, there’s no harm done. Cas’ll be so happy to see you.”

“But I left.”

“Yeah? And then you came back.”

Jack didn’t have a response for that. He looked down at his lap, frowning - he was probably trying to understand what Dean was saying, picking apart his words and measuring them against each other, untangling them. For a moment, Dean wondered if he could read his thoughts. Could God do that? He couldn’t remember - Chuck had always seemed to know what he was thinking, but hadn’t that been because he’d written it?

The whole thing made his head swim. So he huffed and stood up.

“How about that cereal then?” He asked, rubbing his hands together.

Jack nodded. “Okay.”

Dean made Jack cereal. He made it in the same way Sam had used to like it: cold milk first, then cereal poured with gentle shakes, spread out evenly through the bowl.

He fixed him a glass of milk. He watched him eat the cereal bite by bite and didn’t say a word, worried he’d disappear if he did.

It was higher stakes than it had been with Sam. Sam hadn’t been able to snap in and out of places as he pleased. And Sam had been less volatile, less tricky, only dealing with as much as Dean hadn’t been able to shield him from, and what Dean had probably gotten ten times worse already.

Jack brightened as the minutes ticked past. Dean wasn’t sure whether this was from the sugar or the comfort of the quiet kitchen, but by the time he’d finished his cereal, he was almost smiling again. He watched, unguarded, as Dean stood up and cleared his bowl away, tossing it carelessly in the sink for someone else to deal with tomorrow.

“Ready?” He asked.

Jack’s smile faltered, but he nodded and stood up, following Dean as they left the kitchen together.

As Dean had predicted, Cas was ecstatic. Not at first, of course; at first, he was confused. He’d turned over groggily as Dean shook his shoulder, forced awake from his first night of sleep in years. He’d rubbed his eyes and said Dean’s name, half-smiling and not sensing any danger.

And then he’d seen Jack.

Dean would never forget the look that had passed over Cas’ face in that moment - the transition from confusion to disbelief to joy. He’d never forget how he stumbled out of bed to clasp Jack into a tight hug, how he’d opened his eyes to stare at Dean from over his shoulder, smile wide and unreadable.

 _That’s his son._ Dean thought, suddenly, and his palms began to sweat.

“Cas,” Jack started, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Cas pulled back, holding him at arm’s length, “you’re home,” he smiled, “that’s all that matters.”

Dean cleared his throat, feeling a little self conscious, like he was witnessing something private. He thought that maybe he should leave, go back to bed.

But Cas extended his smile to him, seeming to light the entire room with it, glowing from the inside out, “thank you, Dean.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

The smile didn’t fade, “you always do something.” He said, so full of confidence that Dean didn’t have the heart to make a fuss. He just smiled back, weakly.

“Dean made me cereal!” Jack piped up, and Dean averted his eyes, not sure he could take Cas’ smile getting any brighter.

“It’s late.” He said, turning towards the door, “we should sort things out in the morning, when everyone’s awake.”

He heard Cas shift, like he was going to reach out for Dean but had thought better of it. The room suddenly felt cold, like a ghost had passed through. Dean shivered.

“Stay, Dean.” Cas murmured. “It’s almost morning.”

“I’m tired.”

“That makes two of us.”

Cas didn’t sound tired, though. Actually, he sounded excited; he sounded like his humanity was a sherbert on his tongue, something he was savouring as it fizzled away.

Fine. Dean turned around and sighed, looking past Cas and Jack, at the plain wall on the other side of the room.

Cas dropped his smile and crossed the room to sit down on the bed. Dean supposed he was trying to look serious, but he was failing; the borrowed pyjamas seemed even bigger on him in the half-light that crept in from the hallway, and his hair was tousled in that way that only comes from deep sleep.

“Jack,” he said, “what do you need us to do?”

Jack bit his lip, “I think- I think I want to be human. Like you two.”

He and Cas really were the exact same. Dean laughed and shook his head, going to sit down on the bed without even thinking about it. Really, he didn’t realise what he’d done until he felt Cas’ shoulder knocking against his own.

“Is there a way to do that?” Cas asked, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to Jack.

Jack thought for a long second, going completely still. Dean suddenly remembered Amara, and wondered if he was conferring with her somehow; the thought made him a little uneasy, and he shifted on the bed, squeezing his hands into fists.

“Yes.” Jack said, suddenly, “there’s a way.

He didn’t elaborate. Dean waited impatiently, exchanging nervous glances with Cas, whose frown was starting to deepen with worry.

“Jack,” he said, maintaining eye contact with Dean, “do you know how to do this?”

“There’s someone,” Jack said, “a woman worthy of taking on my power, capable of it, a woman who’d be happy to have it.”

Dean inhaled. Jack was young - he was smart, sure, but he was young. He didn’t understand, yet. that worthy and capable wasn’t the same thing as good. He was too trusting, still, despite everything he’d been through.

Secretly, Dean wasn’t sure anyone should have Jack’s power, Jack included. And this woman could be anyone.

Chuck had been bad. Chuck had been awful, actually - but better the devil you know. Or, better the God you know.

“Jack...” He began, preparing to explain all this somehow.

“Who is this woman?” Cas asked, quicker on the draw.

Jack paused, “I don’t know.”

Dean groaned, “so, how-”

“All I know is that she’s good. She’s good and she wants to be better, to help other people be better, too. And-” Jack’s voice got a little thin, “I want to try - I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise. I don’t want this.”

He didn’t want this.

Dean sighed and met Cas’ gaze once again. And, together, in that silent moment, they made a decision.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
